


When Time Debated With Decay

by medical_mechanica



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Ardyn Does a Good Thing But is Still Trash, Ardyn Recites Poetry, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, False Justification, Final Fantasy XV Spoilers, Gaslighting, Gun Violence, Healer Ardyn, Humanizing but Not Redemptive, M/M, Mental Coercion, Non-consensual Healing, Not Romance, Prompto Asks the Real Questions, Prompto Has A Lot of Feelings, World of Ruin, non-sexual nudity, self-surgery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-08
Updated: 2017-11-08
Packaged: 2019-01-30 23:07:53
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,507
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12663327
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/medical_mechanica/pseuds/medical_mechanica
Summary: Prompto finds himself in a tough situation with no one to turn to but the enemy.Written for a prompt by invisibledeity.-Prompto blinked, and tried not to focus on the way the shadows lining the haven throbbed in the campfire light. How long had he been followed?“You may note,” the older man began, raising a hand right up to the edge of the runes, “I can not cross.”The revelation took Prompto aback, jaw falling slightly. It stood to reason that he wouldn’t be able to pass over the runes, but he had never thought about it in practice. Yet, there they were, face to accursed face.Prompto was safe.Pain had a funny way of reminding him that he was, in fact, still grievously injured, and not safe anywhere at all. His hip throbbed.He was trapped.





	When Time Debated With Decay

**Author's Note:**

  * For [invisibledeity](https://archiveofourown.org/users/invisibledeity/gifts).



> This was a Promdyn writing prompt I requested from invisibledeity to help me get through a crazy work month. It worked!
> 
> Original Prompt: World of Ruin. Prompto finds Ardyn at the edge of camp seeking warmth. He can't cross the runes.
> 
> Recommended Listening: Chelsea Wolfe, Flickers by Son Lux
> 
> Heed the warnings.

Blood made the stone slick beneath the gunman’s boots; the gaping wound at his hip gushed down his leg.

Prompto Argentum limped up the stone slope at the edge of the haven, clutching his side. Just as the familiar blue glow sputtered to life underfoot, he slipped and let out a cry, elbows scraping against the rock. After a brief shimmer passed over the remaining runes, it faded, leaving him again in the mid-afternoon darkness. Searing pain radiated up each individual nerve ending centered in his hips, coiling up into himself vertebrae by vertebrae.

A pair of thin long claws had broken off at an awkward angle into the gash. Above that, his side ached, scratched to hell, and most likely poisoned. 

It was bad.

He let out an agonized cry, cheekbone grating against the chilled stone beneath. A sharp hiss, and his prone form stretched out toward the center of the stone. After he managed to crawl close enough, he tossed a red hot flask onto an old fire pit, bringing it back to life. The gunman instantly recognized the chill in the air, body shifting directly around the fire. 

Havens never really seemed as useful as they had been when he was younger, but hunting solo during the Apocalypse might have been to blame. Otherwise relaxing muscles tightened still around the wound; the joint throbbed with a deep hot pain. 

A Salpinx or five clawed into him during an ambush on some refugees. While fledgling Glaives had been there to help, they were no match for the seasoned Deamonspawn.

Everyone survived, but only because Prompto had acted as decoy, fleeing into the endless night.

Breaths fell out in short bursts. In the flickering light, he finally dared to look down.

Actually, it was way worse.

Dark fabric clung wet to his side, absorbing all light, creating what looked like a pit inside of his leg. The blond shuddered, and struggled to keep his attention centered in spite of rising panic in his brain. Somewhere in the thick of his thoughts, Cor’s voice sounded out, “Just survive.” He ripped the fabric around the wound open.

He yanked out the claws, checking for poison, bright red flashing behind his eyes as nausea twisted his stomach and he wretched. He paused, trying to even out his breath.

Sucking in a sharp breath, the gunner proceeded to pull the waist of his Crownsguard fatigues down to the knee, and he barked a yelp at the movement. The gash was a palm’s width, angry and deep. The motion had been enough to disrupt the wound further; fluid rose from where the flesh was separated and there was a dark stream leaking from his hip. An artery, shallow, but exposed. Any further would have hit bone.

The ground spun off kilter and Prompto floated above his body momentarily.

Six, he needed an Elixir.

Which he didn’t have, selfless idiot.

Cursing his own behavior, he bashed a fist onto the stone hard enough to bring himself back. He gulped, trying to conjure worse case senario advice other's had imparted to him over the past several years.

Stitches then.

Inwardly thanking Ignis, he pulled out the small sewing kit the Tactician had bestowed upon him years ago. Just as Cor once demonstrated, he placed his belt between his teeth, and with hands shaking far more than should have been allowed, he brought a needle and thread to the jagged remnants of flesh on his hip and stitched himself back together, alone, in the flickering firelight.

The gunman’s muffled screams would blend into the background of the surrounding deamons’ rutting.

-

The stitches were not neat or pretty, but they would hold his leg closed and slow the bleeding until he could get help. If he could get help.

Reality began to set in. There were only so many hours of workable daylight. He would have to wait. Carefully, he took off his vest and balled it up behind his head, careful not to disrupt the placement of the injured leg. Infection would still find the wound without a proper cleaning however, and the gunman again bit back the rising surge of panic. 

Without the sun, the temperature had dropped dramatically. The fire proved far more comforting than anticipated, and Prompto found himself letting out a deep sigh, warmth surrounding him like an old friend.

He could make it to daylight. He had to.

He had to.

As if on cue, a branch snapped nearby, and the blond tensed. Eyes darted through the darkened foliage, seeing shifting shadows but no life. Out of the corner of his eye, he thought he spotted a vulture. 

There had been a dog, some nights ago, on the edge of camp just as he had nodded off. Thinking he had dreamt it, Prompto brushed it off. A dog wasn't terribly out of the ordinary, especially during the end of the world. But a vulture….

That was a bad sign.

It was at once that the self-surgery adrenaline wafted away, and he slept.

-

Dry flame cracked, and Prompto awoke with a start. A figure stood at the edge of camp and an all too familiar smell wrinkled itself up into his nostrils.

He forgot himself. Jumping to his feet, he summoned his gun, taking no time before white hot pain brought him back down. While the crude stitches held, an agonized scream ripped from his throat. Bloodied pants clung around his knees. He eyed the fresh stitching, noting a growing discoloration around the wound. A sheen of sweat coated his entire body, matting his hair to his head, and he knew it couldn't have been the fire.

A fever.

It was all nearly enough to distract the gunman from the figure lingering at his periphery.

“You,” the blond’s voice grated.

One syllable, so full of contempt. It poured off of Prompto in waves, clinging to him like the matted blood around his thigh. He aimed his pistol directly at the form of Ardyn Izunia. The weakening fire danced shadows across the man’s face, enveloping him in the same warm glow as the gunman.

“It appears you’ve need of some assistance,” the sickeningly saccharine voice sounded across the camp, cordial as ever.

Prompto couldn’t be sure if the shudder that wracked his body was in revulsion or pain. 

His aim held true.

“What do you want?” the blond’s voice betrayed him instantly, breaking mid-sentence. Hissing in frustration, Prompto tried to gather himself upright in spite of his injury. Fatigue gripped his senses, flashing red lights blaring behind his eyes.

He needed a Hi-Elixir.

“You’ve left quite the mess in your wake…” the imposing figure gestured to the flaking streaks of dried blood leading to the runes.

“What… you, what? Come to finish me?” Prompto had begun, bitter and winded. Funny though, he couldn’t remember running?

The Accursed man seemed amused, sincerity dancing across his features in the firelight.

“Oh, no,” he paused, holding up his hands in gentle mock surrender, “... were that the case, I’m afraid you would not have made it even this far,” even in the dim light, the vague smirk that appeared on his face wasn’t to be missed.

Prompto blinked, and tried not to focus on the way the shadows lining the haven throbbed in the campfire light. How long had Ardyn been following him?

The expression on Ardyn’s face morphed into one he had yet to see; resignation.

“You may note,” the older man began, raising a hand right up to the edge of the runes, “I can not cross.” 

At that, he pushed forward with his hand, and a sudden bright blue light exploded around the Accursed’s hand, searing off all of the flesh in an instant. He withdrew it shortly after, casually shaking it out like he had been minorly burnt. Sinew instantaneously began to grow over exposed tendons.

The revelation took Prompto aback, jaw falling slightly. It stood to reason that Ardyn wouldn’t be able to pass over the runes, but he had never thought about it in practice. Yet, there they were, face to accursed face.

Ardyn couldn’t touch him.

He was safe.

Pain had a funny way of reminding him that he was, in fact, still grievously injured, and not safe anywhere at all. His hip throbbed.

Prompto was trapped.

A groan threatened to erupt from his throat, but the gunman bit it back.

“What do you want?” Prompto repeated evenly, aim unwavering. Haven or no.

“Only to be of assistance,” the chancellor replied, eyes softening.

It could have been the fading light, or the gunner’s crippling pain, but in the fire the man at the edge of the haven looked, well, like a man. No more, no less.

Human.

So many years ago, he and the guys had cornered an injured chocobo in an attempt to rescue it. A familiar glint shone in the gaze that met his.

Prompto’s nostrils flared, skin on the back of his neck prickling.

“Do you think I'm stupid?” he croaked, tone dripping with venom. He gasped and leaned into the growing ache.

Ardyn looked as if he was going to tut, but withheld and replied “I think you mortally wounded, my dearest pet,” dulcet tone slipping directly under the blond’s skin.

The gunman gritted his teeth and grunted, pain and stress meshing. Surging on adrenaline from the safety of the runes, he felt emboldened. The gun cocked. 

“This is all your fault,” the bloodied man growled. He could barely feel the pain.

“I care to disagree,”

“You caused this.”

“I decidedly did not.”

“You, the Nifs-”

“I but played my part-”

“You helped bring down Insomnia-”

“Your father’s work-”

“You stole the Crystal.”

“From that wretched Iedolas-”

“You KILLED LUNA.”

“Who was already dying, my-”

“And what you did to Iggy…”

“An unfortunate necessity.”

“This is ALL YOUR FAULT. ALL OF IT. WHERE IS HE?”

Prompto’s voice broke, failing to notice that in his rage, he had closed the distance between them, gun at point blank before the Chancellor’s face. Hot tears streamed down the blond’s cheeks, and through gritted teeth the blond wept “where is he?”

Runes glowed protectively between them.

A sob shook the gunman, unable to pull himself away from the gaze meeting his. Wishing more than anything to turn away, to pull back, to ignore the presence looming over his safehaven, he was pulled back. Right back to Ardyn. Everything, everything always back to Ardyn.

His former captor looked on, sympathetic. Prompto wanted to vomit, but had nothing to expel. Instead, he spat on the ground next to the man, never letting his aim fall for a moment. Time stretched on, and he desperately tried to still the twitching constriction of sobs that raked out of his body uncontrollably. His head burned hotter still, but the grip on his pistol kept him centered.

“I am nothing if not a man of action…” the honeyed voice began, and with little more than a flourish, Ardyn removed his hat and oversized coat, casually tossing it by Prompto’s feet. It passed over the runes without issue. The gunman sneered and took a stitled step back.

“Verstael, Iedolas, even your beloved Aranea, they all reach,” he continued, never looking away from the blond’s gaze, effortlessly removing his waistcoat and throwing it by the rest. “Reaching desperately, endlessly, for any semblance of control over their brief flicker of an existence…” with a slight tug, his scarf followed the rest, leaving only his shirt slack about his form in the darkness. The blond watched on, studying the scene carefully. It was all he could do from dropping on the spot. In the gunman’s eye, firelight stretched tendrils of light, wrapping their way over stone, and over the form of his enemy.

In the dying embers, Ardyn’s hair looked black, offset by the soft white of his collar. A light breeze picked up, ruffling the man’s hair. Prompto could almost see the same spot with the same light so long ago with his best friend. Before the gunman could dwell for long, the man had tugged up on his sleeves. A magician with a captive audience, he rolled each one up with practiced aplomb.

Once finished, Ardyn stood before him, arms outstretched like so many dead Kings. 

“I am but a servant.”

It was dramatic, and of course it was, but Prompto wasn’t buying it. Not again. He shook his head, and thought about moving the garments into the fire, but it would take too much attention off of his target.

Moments ticked by, and he could see the breeze raise bumps on Ardyn’s arms and neck. Years of nightmares, creeping upon him in the dark, waking him with sweet nothings that set him on edge, and before him stood the cause of all his distress. Just think.

Even deamons got cold.

Prompto could do nothing but witness.

“If you must place blame, check in with the Draconian and please send him my regards,” Ardyn began, bringing his arms to his hips, slipping out of his saintly stature as the salt crept back into his tone. The blond yet remained still.

Sounds of distant deamons resounded in the background, followed by the gunman’s ragged breath. They stood there in the midnight breeze, Ardyn saintly and disrobed, Prompto’s pants pulled down to his knees, pistol ever at the ready.

Moments stretched on like hours, years, before the gunman could find his voice.

“What do you want?” the question was soft with quickened pained breath, gun still raised. Ardyn smiled.

“Let me heal you.”

It was not a request.

Ardyn stood before him, emitting a slight shiver in the night’s breeze.

“The nights grow colder,” Ardyn offered further still, as if that answered anything.

“I’d rather die,” the blond huffed, jerking his aim back up between the Accursed’s eyes. The gaze that met his was piercing.

Prompto took a moment to glance down at his leg. It was somehow worse, under the stitching. Infection spread, running sickly threads of blue down his leg.

When the gunner glanced back up, the Accursed Man saw straight through him.

“I await His return, just as you.”

Benevolence shone in Ardyn’s eyes in that moment, and it stung. It stung harder than the shitty stitching at Prompto’s hip. He wasn’t supposed to know, and he knew. Somehow, he knew. How long had he been following him?

The blond couldn’t stop his lips from quivering and he let out a high pitched cry.

He knew. He could see the gaping space in his mind; the neverending void threatened to swallow Prompto whole. The nights spent chasing hunts alone, the tightness in his chest as it ebbed in restless pursuit, the hunts that got him pinned and cornered. Caged.

The gray that settled in around him seemed to stick unless he kept busy.

What would happen when he stepped out of the safety of the haven?

The blond let out a scream into the other’s face, and fired. The shot was deafening, and quieted the surrounding deamons for a beat. Ink blood welled up under the thin cloth surrounding the taller’s shoulder, quickly drenching through the fabric as the hole already moved to heal. The gun sat rested into the closing wound, shaking in the blond’s grip. The Accursed’s warm expression remained unchanged.

“Next time, my dear, try aiming just here, instead,” a hand gently guided the tip of the barrel lower, over his heart. Whatever remaining color there was left in Prompto’s face drained.

Ardyn straightened, “You have my word, no harm shall befall you outside of your haven,” and the shadows around the camp rose and fell, but it could have been the blood loss stitching circles in Prompto’s mind. Red lights flashed behind his eyes, and the anchor of his trigger finger slipped away.

“Your word… means shit.”

He needed a Phoenix Down. 

The world fell sideways, and he floated above his body. He watched as his form crumpled forward, past the safety of the runes, broad arms catching him as he fell. His cheek hit soft muslin. The gun still somehow remained in hand, and even in his weakened state, he held fast and brought the firearm up to the taller man’s temple. His eyes glazed over. Unfazed, the ancient healer went to work, laying Prompto down, and the blond watched from his hazy place overhead. Ceremoniously, Ardyn moved to lay hands on the blond, studiously pushing back the sunken waistband of his pants and underwear, leaving him exposed in the night air. He scooped up the younger man, bracing him in his arms.

It was a weird time to remember that his vest was left by the campfire.

As the weight of the larger man’s hand grasped the poor stitching at his hip, Prompto came back into his useless body. Eyes widening, he flinched under the grip at his leg, cocking the pistol again and not so gently pushing it into wine red hair.

For the briefest instant, it occurred to Prompto that their whole history of exchanges could be based on some great cosmic misunderstanding. Under the man’s encompassing hands, the dread that his rage could, in fact, be misplaced, flickered in his brain’s stew. 

Ardyn, looking only at the wound, inhaled deeply and pressed his palm firmly onto the younger man’s torn hip. Prompto gasped in cold pain, before the wound seemed to open up with heat. The tissue burned, wanting to blossom, twisting itself into a soft golden glow. He remained tense in the hold of his enemy, before the ache in his leg eased.

“Please, stop…” the blond mewled out in spite of himself, not wanting to risk basking in the other’s presence, weight of the ensuing guilt waiting to crush him. The older figure ‘shh’d him, running a comforting hand down his arm. Had he the energy, he would have fought, or so he would tell himself in days to come.

“Ah, you’ve still a role to play, my dear, as do I,” Ardyn breathed, focused on his task.

The rendered flesh barely holding together then proceeded to wrap and twist back into form, mending under the healer’s grip. Ardyn’s face was set in concentration, illuminated softly by the dulled golden glow emanating from his hands. 

Under the warmth, the gunner’s stomach turned, and he found himself gripping the thin shirt draped over the broad shoulders above him with his free hand. It was then he could hear a hushed whispering murmur from the form above him, “... of this inconstant stay sets you most rich in youth before my sight… “ 

“No…” Prompto breathed, his muscles slowly melting into the touch. The stone beneath him seemed to spin, the lack of pain so sudden it left him high, and for a brief moment, he could feel Luna’s presence flicker briefly in the warm grip. Tears pricked at the corners of his eyes. It was an odd thing, this.

Prompto blinked up at the visage of the still very human looking enemy currently in the process of healing him. A small sheen of sweat had started to form on Ardyn’s brow, followed by traces of what in the light looked like purple oil.

Hushedly, the older man continued, as if in prayer, “... to change your day of youth to sullied night…”

A shudder overtook the blond as he felt the stitching give way, no longer needed. It was a strange feeling, the string slip out of his skin so painlessly.

Ardyn breathed heavily, leaning onto him, words still forming in the mouth now beside Prompto’s ear.

“... As He takes from you, I engraft you new,” he finished, glow receding.

Ardyn Izunia was left sighing over the form of the gunman, illuminated weakly by the dying embers of the distant campfire. Prompto’s gaze travelled up from the now flawless skin at his hip and ribs. Above him, Ardyn lay stretched in fatigue, all encompassing. They breathed at each other, and their gazes met.

There, in the darkness, the blond would later recall a sight that would haunt his dreams for decades. Ardyn looked to him, completely defenseless. Unguarded. Vulnerable. The Oracle King. Prompto, looking hopelessly grateful in spite of himself, at the same time noted how impossibly warm the older man was, all but draped over him.

The light from the fire finally died.

And with a single resounding shot in the endless night, Prompto noted that the blood and brains that splattered across the his face in the moment after were just as warm. 

Without a pause, the blond hopped up and pulled up his boxers. He ran to grab his vest, and returned. The Accursed lay still, already beginning to heal. The gunner pulled his pants back up, studying the lifeless form carefully. He kicked the coat back out of the runed boundary. He left the rest.

Promptly, he emptied the remainder of the chamber into his captor’s back.

“Fuck you.”

Before another moment could pass, Prompto broke into a full run back into the night.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! And thank you, invisibledeity, for the awesome brainworm. 
> 
> I hope you enjoyed it, and that it was at least somewhat enjoyable in light of the original prompt.
> 
> There were four pop culture and literary references folded into this, if you can name ANY of them, let me know. One of them is super easy.
> 
>  
> 
> If you enjoyed this at all, there's a second prompt coming, but it's going to take a very long time to complete. You'll see it eventually.


End file.
